


Laid Bare

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Prompt Fill, Statement withdrawal, accidental mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fill for the prompt: https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=20836#cmt20836Martin has to help Jon out with some statement withdrawal.





	Laid Bare

It's funny how things go wrong.   
  
The flight to Heathrow is delayed, at first. Fifteen minutes. Jon swears irritably and goes to get another drink of water. Then it's twenty, then half an hour. Three hours posted. There's an announcement about maintenance or something. He goes to get dinner and eats an entirely cardboard-like meal at some wannabe fast food restaurant.  
  
After dinner, he realizes he has a headache and sighs. He doesn't want to give a statement at the airport. It'll be fine. He'll be fine. It's not that long. He did one statement already today; it was early, but he can handle it.  
  
When the flight is delayed another four hours, he calls Elias and tells him he's going to be delayed. Elias is irritated and takes out some of his irritation on Jon. Jon hangs up on him. His head is really starting to hurt, so he goes to the bathroom to splash water on his face. When he comes out, he has a moment when the terminal seems to invert, and a full-body terrified shudder as he thinks he's  _falling_. Right, that's enough, he's going to give a statement now.  
  
Except--he's out. Jon stares down numbly into his backpack, checking through his folders, and he's read every one of these statements. Well, all right. Elias can email him something, presumably. It might not be the most secure thing to do, but it's just for once. Jon picks up his phone and calls Elias.  
  
Elias doesn't pick up.   
  
Jon's stomach drops into his shoes. The headache is insistent now, and he's noticed his hands have started shaking a little. Jon tries three times more, and then, finally, the plane starts boarding.  
  
Burning with embarrassment, but driven onward by a lurking anxiousness, he sends a quick email to Elias, Martin, Melanie, Basira, and Tim. Hopefully he'll be able to check his email on the flight.  
  
The in-flight wi-fi is broken. There's an announcement after they take off, "sorry for the inconvenience," something something inflight entertainment. Jon takes a deep breath through his nose. The headache is clawing through him like an animal now, and his stomach doesn't seem to stop rising when the plane does. He'll try to sleep. It was supposed to be an overnight flight, anyway. It's already late, so surely he'll be able to sleep.  
  
His head hurts too much to sleep, and he's starting to see strange lights shifting at the corners of his vision. Jon's never been prone to migraines, but he supposes this is what 'auras' feel like. He tries not to cry. Eventually he slumps over his tray table and tries not to want to die.  
  
By the time the plane lands, the pain is so bad he can barely see, and he's thrown up twice into a brown paper bag. The woman seated next to him seems pretty eager to get away, and Jon can't blame her. Saying "it's not contagious; it's withdrawal" probably would not help. He has a hysterical image of being taken aside by airport security, of begging for his tape recorder, of--  
  
It doesn't happen. He gets up somehow, although he's so dizzy the floor of the plane seems to be rocking beneath him. Some kind soul helps him get his carry-on down from the overhead compartment. He's going to have to take a taxi to the Archive, he thinks. He'll get through Immigration and walk out and take a taxi and go to the Archive and he'll find a statement, any statement--  
  
He has no memory, later, of how he gets through Immigration. It can't have been difficult, since he has the appropriate passport, but it's nothing but a dizzy grey blur from the moment he steps off the plane till the moment he walks out into the terminal and sees Martin waiting for him.  
  
"Jon?" Martin says uncertainly. Jon takes one more step, and then there's just nothing in his head anymore. Everything's black and cold.  
  
The next thing he hears is the click of the recorder and Martin's voice saying, "Oh my god Jon please wake up. You need a statement, don't you? Didn't you get my email?"  
  
"No wifi on plane," Jon mumbles back.  
  
"Okay," Martin says. "Okay, okay, okay. Shit. Fine. All right. Take mine then, okay? Can you do that?"  
  
The click of the recorder has focused him a little. "Statement of Martin Blackwood," he whispers. "Regarding...?"  
  
"Regarding the, um, um, death of his mother," Martin whispers.  
  
Jon feels a frisson of shame run through him, but the pain is fading already as he says, "Statement taken direct from subject, J-July fifth, 2017."  
  
"My mum getting sick was, was, um. It was a normal thing. I don't want to go into it. It's not important. It was just one of those things," Martin says, all in a rush, and the more he speaks, the more Jon can feel the pain in his head ebbing and the dizziness subsiding, and the more ashamed of himself he feels, as Martin keeps talking, outlining in a shaky but clear voice the way he'd wanted to find a way to make the pain go away, and how he'd gone from begging the doctors to frequenting dodgy medical forums to prayers in Hebrew to frequenting dodgy occult websites.  
  
"I just...wanted to make it stop," Martin mumbles. "And--and I guess it did? But they ate her from the inside out. No. They  _drained_ her until the only thing left w-w-was a husk, wrapped up in a thin film of cobweb."  
  
The tape recorder clicks off. Jon's fine. He's exhausted, yes, but the dizziness and nausea have ebbed. There's a thin trickle of blood making its way down Martin's chin.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jon says. "God, Martin. I'm so sorry."  
  
When Martin looks up, there are tears in his eyes. "If--if I had to tell somebody," he whispers. "I'd have picked you like a shot."  
  
Jon barks out a laugh. " _Why?_ " And that's when he realizes the fizzing taste of the word leaving his mouth, but he can't call it back.   
  
Martin doesn't seem to notice immediately. "Because, whether or not you know it, talking to you actually does make things feel better," he says. "But also mostly because I'm pretty sure I've been in love with you for three years." Then his eyes widen. "Shit.  _Shit._ " He starts to get up, and Jon catches at his elbow, his world rocking strangely from side to side.  
  
"Martin--shit," he says as well. None of this should have happened, but a simple apology can't possibly make up for how much he's just stripped Martin to the bone. Martin stands there loosely, his sweatered arm in Jon's hand.  
  
"Do you hate me?" he asks, very quietly.  
  
"No," Jon tells him. "No, no, no." He pulls, and Martin slumps back down, and Jon puts his arms around him, strange as that feels. "No," he says again, helplessly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  
  
"You're all right," Martin says. "So it's okay, right, I mean...it's okay, as long as you're all right."  
  
"No," Jon says, the words like shards of glass in his mouth. "No, I--Martin, I need you to be all right as well. Please."  
  
Martin's eyes are dull as he looks back. "I'm...I'll be fine, Jon. It's okay. It's what I'm here for."  
  
"No," Jon tells him again and then realizes he can't possibly explain in words the extent to which that statement falls short of what Martin is here for. So he tips Martin's head to the side and kisses him, very carefully, very chastely, but full on the lips before pulling back.  
  
"Oh," Martin says, and the barest hint of sparkling light that re-enters his eyes makes Jon want to cry. "Do you mean it? You're not just--"  
  
Jon kisses him again. He's not very good at it. "Yes," he says. "I do. I do mean it."


End file.
